


Screaming just to see who's louder

by ecapss



Series: Voids and Voices [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Instability, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecapss/pseuds/ecapss
Summary: Anti succeeds in one thing, work. Of course, thats only when within his element.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is written differently from the actual story, so if ya hate it then whoops sorry

He tries not to think too much, it's not good for his health. Of course, this is a meaningless sentiment. For Anti, _tries_ is synonymous with _fails._

 

_He tries to stay alone._

_He tries to fix this._

_He tries not to drink so much._

_He tries he tries he tries he-_

 

Knocks back a shot, grimacing at the taste. Efforts be damned, he fails as much as he thinks.

 

He considers the bottle in his hands before returning its cap and shoving it somewhere under the dresser. Best to be somewhat sober before he _confronts_ (beats the shit out of) his  _partner_ (illiterate fuck).

 

Anti’s never liked working in teams; Alone, if he fucks up, he dies. Simple.

But when someone else fucks up? He’s punished.

 

One glance confirms his suspicions that this time his computer had been the cost of his _partners_ (bitches) fuck up.

Even with this setback, Anti can’t deny the enjoyment in his job. It’s only though work that something like pride echos in his seldom used heart. It’s twisted and warped, but it’s heavier than nothing and lighter than pain, so he lives for the satisfaction of success. Clicks and clatter of the keyboard keep him company though the static, a blur of time passing until results are found or he collapses over the screen.

 

He’s damn good at his job. This is the only emotionally based thought allowed as he makes his way to Dark’s office. The rest aren’t important anyway.

 

He tries to keep his breathing even.


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An oddly executed encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I've been wanting to do for a long time, but I've been lost lately. im ready to not be, so lets get back into hesitantly storytelling!
> 
> That being said!
> 
> I will update the tags for each chapter, as later down the line there will be HEAVY and GRAPHIC abuse. i will make sure my tags are as specific as possible, but if you wanna stick through you should know by now i am too weak for sad endings, so i can guarantee wherever the fuck we end up will be at least somewhat okay.
> 
> FOR THIS CHAPTER only triggers are slight blood mention, fighting, panic attack like symptoms.

Anti is a simple man. He doesn’t ask for much, and even then he rarely gets more than what he can scape for himself.

 

Dark is a toddler raised by bitchy robots with the charm of crooked insurance scammers. He asks for the whole damn world, then whines when it’s not big enough to fit half his ego.

 

But if he knows anything about himself, it’s that Anti Byrnes has no time, love, or patience for narcissistic bastards. He can barley handle himself, the screams ripping from his skull irritating him more than he’d care to confess. On rare occasions it quiets to a low, gravelly murmur of anxieties that’s tolerable, but leaves him exhausted. Then he has to handle comments like “ _You seem so off!_ ” or “ _Uh oh, Anti’s plotting something!_ ” and other bullshit that adds to the headache of dealing with idiotic clientele. Other times, like today, he's treated to a siren grating his thoughts and chest with a tension that really doesn’t enable itself to kindness in the face of pure mediocrity.

 

Shame Dark decided todays the day to embrace his new life as a complete and irredeemable bastard.

 

“Dark, you prude slut!” Anti cackles, loving the delicious mix of rage and confusion that burns away Dark’s boring work mindset. The anger flickering behind his eyes flared the moment Anti had slammed through the door, a burst of electricity shutting down his computer to ensure his full attention. “Has Dumb Bitch Syndrome rendered your brain so unusable that you thought this would work out for you?”

 

Dark sighs, hands lightly clasped in front of him as if firing an intern from a law firm, not dealing with an armed and wildly pissed off demon. Figures.

 

“I suppose you’re referring to your laptop.” No inflection, no trace of guilt. Just his trademark morgue customer service tone. “An unfortunate casualty-”

 

“Aw thats cute, you talk like it wasn’t completely avoidable had you left the right task to the right man.” Anti smiles into his shoulder as if bashful before banging both hands on the desk, sending various papers flying. “You stole my computer, used it for purposes I didn’t approve, fucked up said task because you’re as gifted with technology as an eighty year old house cat, and then somehow by the grace of whatever sewer birthed you, managed to _wipe_ _the hard drive_.”

 

“I couldn’t afford to wait another week for you to give a shit and do it yourself. Have you had what I requested of you on time this would've been avoided. Besides-”

 

The nonchalant shrug that Dark throws tints Anti's vision red. The asshole doesn’t even care that his computer, _his life_ , has been put in jeopardy. Dark discuses the crime with the casual air of ordering a coffee.

 

“Data shouldn’t be hard to restore-”

 

As the blade sails towards Darks head, Anti briefly wonders when he’d even flicked his knife open. He figures he must have at some point, or it wouldn’t have caught the tip of Dark’s ear and drawn a deep red line before embedding itself in the wall. He decides he doesn't care, the crack of the knife muffled by the sharp slap of Anti’s fist landing a solid punch against the idiots face.

 

“Neither should your ugly nose.”

 

Anti knows he’s pushing boundaries, but can’t find any reason to care. Dark, practically a stranger, violated any sort of trust he’d even consider _thinking_ towards the hitman. The impatient brute demanding everything the second he snaps doesn’t justify the cost of potential data corruption.

 

Dark cracks his neck, swiping a thumb at the slight blood trickling down his face. His voice drips with rage.

 

“If you don’t leave _immediately,_ your corpse will fertilize the rose bed tomorrow.”

 

Anti rolls his eyes, the threat calculated and trying too hard, like the rest of Dark's business act. A killer who isn't honest enough to act like one. Pathetic.

 

“Hm, too bad I don’t know when to quit,” He flashes his most shit eating grin, the one that ensures a good fight, then pushes the glass resting on Dark’s desk and spilling coffee down the mans suit. “Otherwise that piss poor insult may-”

 

He’s cut off attempting to dodge hands suddenly shooting across the table, aiming for his neck. A very, _very,_ angry Dark just barley catches the string of his hoodie and yanks, slamming Anti’s head down against the corner with a hollow thud that blurs his vision. He staggers back, trying to glitch out of reach but failing.

Something unsettling had pulled him back.

 

He isn’t in Dark’s stuffy office when he solidifies. Immediately, an intense pressure drops him to his knees, a high keen tearing from his clenched teeth. He has no clue where the fuck he is, but every piece of him feels disgustingly wrong.

 

There is only black, not the flat black of a painted wall but the deep, endless shade of a shadow. It’s moves like tar, filling every space with unseen force that draws him into himself. Curled tightly, Anti desperately gasps for air as the void, endless and suffocating, overtakes his thoughts.

 

_It’s quiet._

 

A violent chill shocks his spine, an unwelcome cold digging into his skin. Everything is dead silent, his thoughts smothered by the empty vacuum. It’s wrong, _wrong,_ everything is wrong.

 

For the first time since his creation, Anti’s thoughts are still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor anti

**Author's Note:**

> Roast me at Ecapss u know the drill


End file.
